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PDXV, Vol. 1 and Vol. 2 (Heavywood).
Five years ago, Trumpeter Dick Titterington brought together for one engagement saxophonist Rob Davis, pianist Greg Goebel, bassist Dave Captein and drummer Todd Strait. They discovered that their combination worked and decided to keep it going. For their name, the quintet added the Roman numeral V to the FAA acronym for the airport in Portland, Oregon, their home base. PDXV quickly developed cohesiveness, stylistic range and an identifiable sound that make them more than just another hard bop quintet. They center their repertoire in pieces by mainstream icons including Thelonious Monk, Joe Henderson, Harold Land and Kenny Dorham. In these two albums they leaven their post-bop traditionalism with tunes from modernists Gary Dial, Steve Swallow, Tom Harrell, Dick Oatts, Fred Hersch, Stanley Clarke and the French trumpeter Nicolas Folmer.
All of the members are strong soloists, as they demonstrate from the outset. Vol. 1, a concert recording, opens with Land’s 1972 composition “Step Right Up to the Bottom,” a kaleidoscope of chord changes, time shifts and variations in dynamics that launch Davis into a gutsy, compact tenor solo. He establishes an improvisational line of inquiry picked up by Titterington and continued in solos by Goebel, Captein and Strait. It is a good introduction to the group and a demonstration of the like-mindedness that gives PDXV its solidarity. Their flawless execution of Land’s challenging material at a metronome pace of 200 leaves no doubt about the players’ chops. Virtuosity is an important part of the package, but dazzle does not seem to be their goal. Titterington’s and Goebel’s lyricism is notable in “Red Giant” by Oatts, as is Davis’s on soprano in Swallow’s quirky “Outfits.”
The blend of the horns comes as close as anything I’ve heard lately to the benchmark of unity established decades ago by Charlie Parker and Dizzy Gillespie. Their merger is remarkable in Vol. 2 with Davis on tenor for a romp through Monk’s “Trinkle Tinkle” and even more striking when he is playing soprano in unison with Titterington on Folmer’s entrancing “I Comme Icare.” In the Monk tune, Goebel manages an amusing tip of the turban to Thelonious without resorting to imitation or parody. For this club date, Strait sent in a sub, Randy Rollofson, not a soloist of Strait’s incisiveness or melodic bent but a fine time keeper with a penchant for strategically placed cymbal splashes behind the soloists. Captein, known to many for his recordings with the Jessica Williams Trio, combines compelling work in the rhythm section with post-Scott LaFaro facility and imagination as a soloist.
You Tube has several short video clips of PDXV, each featuring a member in a solo, but ony one complete performance. It is of Nicolas Folmer’s “Iona.” With three of his compositions on their two CDS, it is clear that the band has high regard for the young Frenchman’s work. This was at the 2007 Cathedral Park Jazz Festival in Portland.

PDXV will be in concert at The Seasons in my town next weekend, with singer Rebecca Kilgore making it a sextet for part of the evening. It’s an intriguing combination; a vocalist admired for the purity of her interpretations of standard songs, and a hard-charging band of rebop adventurers. I’ll let you know how it goes.

Following the Ornette Coleman birthday posting three items down, Alan Broadbent sent the following:

Now, this one’s absolutely true, I was there and it’s never made the books.
Monk’s quartet came to NZ on his “64 world tour and I and my friend Frank Gibson had good seats at Auckland’s beloved Town Hall to see him. After the concert I was elected to drive Larry Gales in my ’53 Ford Prefect to the Musician’s Union where we held a little party for the band. Well, would you believe it, there was Thelonious all by himself standing in a corner, keeping to himself. Mostly, I think, because everyone must have been afraid to approach him. I remember him wearing a turban and occasionally doing a little twirl, which must have been somewhat intimidating to everyone, not the least me. Frank started nudging me. “Go on, Alan, go ask him something.”

Being a lad of 17 and discovering all kinds of new things to listen to in jazz, even in 1964 New Zealand, I had been listening to Ornette and Charlie, trying to comprehend the new “free form” jazz. I had read the term in Down Beat, I believe.

Well, I made my way through the crowd toward his little corner of the world and looked up at what seemed to me a giant of a man in more ways than one. After gingerly introducing myself, I somehow managed to tell him I was listening to Ornette and asked him if he had an opinion about this new “free form” music.

Thereupon he looked down at me and said in a low, quiet voice….

“Well…. first you said FREE….. then you said FORM.”

Whereupon I thanked him and melded back into the crowd.

On this CD, Broadbent plays Monk’s “‘Round Midnight.” I hoped to find video of him performing a Monk piece but had no luck. Instead, here he is with Charlie Haden’s Quartet West in a 1999 concert in Sao Paolo, Brazil. Haden, bass; Broadbent, piano; Ernie Watts, tenor saxophone; Larance Marable, drums. Bizarrely, the YouTube clip identifies the tune as “The Long Goodbye.” Maybe they’d had too many Heinekens. The piece is, in fact, Charlie Parker’s “Dexterity.”

Mr. Broadbent adds that rumors of Larance Marable’s death are greatly exaggerated.

Larance suffered a stroke a few years back, but, although he can’t speak and is infirm, his friends might like to get in touch with him at West Side Health Care where he is very much alive.

Today is Ornette Coleman’s 80th birthday. In my admiration for Coleman’s independence, faithfulness to his vision and inspiration, I yield to no one–except my artsjournal colleague Howard Mandel, whose lengthy Jazz Beyond Jazz tribute today is replete with Coleman history and analysis and links to recordings and books. As addenda to Howard’s account of Coleman’s initial breakthrough with Contemporary Records, I offer this archive item and this followup entry.
Over the years, there is wide variety of instrumentation and sound in Coleman’s bands. For many devoted listeners, his original quartet remains the standard by which to assess the music of his other groups. Here is a clip of that band reunited in 1987 for a festival in Spain. Don Cherry is the trumpeter, Charlie Haden the bassist, Billy Higgins the drummer. Coleman’s solo is a fine example of his ability to improvise little melodies that are sometimes more fetching than the tunes he writes.

YouTube has three other pieces of video from that concert. To find them, go here.
When Coleman was less than a decade into his controversial career, I wrote about what stands as one of his most riveting recordings. In it, I addressed some of the issues swirling around him as the jazz community exalted and excoriated him. The piece was for Jazz Review, a radio program I did on WDSU in New Orleans in the sixties. It is included in Jazz Matters: Reflections on the Music and Some of its Makers.

1966
Ornette Coleman, Live At The Golden Circle (Blue Note)
I think it’s safe to assume that most people, even most jazz listeners, are not familiar with the music of Ornette Coleman. You may have heard about the controversy that has ripped through music the past six years because of Coleman’s startling style and his influence on other players.
Ornette Coleman plays alto saxophone, self-taught, and he recently took a couple of years off to teach himself trumpet and violin as well. In the wake of his debut in the late fifties, there erupted a string of nonsense–played, written and spoken–which has continued and become even more absurd. One school of critics proclaimed that he had rejuvenated jazz and given it new direction. Another school said he was destroying jazz singlehandedly and that there was no hope for further good times in music. LeRoi Jones, Archie Shepp and a few dozen others in New York have decided that Coleman is a prophet of black supremacy. Coleman himself has been notably reticent on that point.
I think enough time has passed to make it clear that Ornette Coleman is neither genius nor fraud, merely a pretty fair alto player with his own vision. I was going to say, who hears a different drummer. But, as you will hear momentarily, Coleman’s drummer, Charles Moffett, is a basic, sort of old-timey drummer working in the avant-garde. And I assume that’s what Coleman wants, because in many ways he himself is a basic, old-timey player. He has freed himself from some restrictions of harmony and bar lines, but I don’t think he’s done it because of some desperate need to escape from formal restrictions.
Coleman is a naïve, brilliant musician whose jazz sense is as instinctive as it is learned, who has the blues in his bones and who is an extremely powerful rhythmic player. He is a man in whose name some of the most outrageous and powerful cults have sprung up. Coleman doesn’t deserve some of his self-appointed disciples. Nor does he deserve the burden of exaggerated praise that has proclaimed him some sort of messiah.
At any rate, here’s Ornette Coleman in his first recording in three years, with Charles Moffett on drums and David Izenzon on bass. This was recorded at the Golden Circle club in Stockholm. It’s call “Dee Dee.”
“Dee Dee” 9:10
If you’re unfamiliar with Ornette Coleman, this is a good record to begin with. If you have followed his career, it gives you an idea what he’s been up to since 1962. He is interesting to hear. How much lasting musical value there is in his playing, I just don’t know. I’ve been listening to him for five years, and I have often received tremendous emotional charges from his solos. I’ll continue listening. (1966)

I have. And I will.

No, not the Sidney Bechet “Sheik of Araby” kind of one man band, but the television news kind. Today, Howard Kurtz devotes his column in The Washington Post to a phenomenon brought about in broadcast news by the convergence of technology and economic hard times.

Scott Broom turns his tripod toward the wall of gray mailboxes, adjusts the camera, walks into the shot and delivers his spiel.
“Here’s how bad it is for the U.S. Postal Service,” the WUSA reporter says as a handful of customers at the Garrett Park post office look on. Invoking the organization’s growing deficit, which he just looked up on a laptop in his car, he puts a stamp on an envelope and declares: “At 44 cents a shot, that is a lot of peeling and sticking.”
Broom then thrusts the envelope toward the lens — and blows out the iris, which has to be reset so he can try the stand-up again. It’s one of the occupational hazards of being a journalistic jack of all trades — the equivalent of singing while playing the keyboard, guitar and drums.

To read all of Kurtz’s column, go here. It made me think about about standard practice in many television markets during my early years in broadcast journalism, before the digital revolution produced tiny cameras.
In 1963, I went to the Benson Hotel in Portland, Oregon, to interview Senator Karl Mundt of South Dakota. He was chairman of the Senate Foreign Affairs Committee. American troop levels in the Viet Nam war had tripled and tripled again and I had lots of questions for him. I drove the KOIN-TV van to the hotel and schlepped the gear into the lobby only to learn that a power disturbance had fried the system that controlled the elevators. They were all out of commission. I hauled the big Pro 600 Auricon conversion 16-millimeter film camera (pictured) up six flights of stairs, knocked on the door of Mundt’s suite, said I was from Channel 6 News and explained that I had to go back down for the rest of the equipment.
In three subsequent trips, I wrangled the enormous wooden tripod, the lights and their stands, amplifier, cables and sound apparatus up six stories. As I brought each new batch of paraphernalia into their room, Senator and Mrs. Mundt sat on the sofa sipping coffee. Small, round people with kind faces, they watched my exertions with interest and patience. I forget what Senate business took Mundt to Portland, but he did not have the entourage of staff people today’s ranking politicians seem unable to do without. If he had, I would have recruited them to help carry the gear.
As I positioned the lights, set the zoom lens for a two-shot, focused and prepared to displace Mrs. Mundt on the sofa for the interview, the senator said, “Will the reporter be here soon?”
I told him that I was the reporter and crew.
“Oh,” he said. “That isn’t how they do it in Washington.”
It is now.

Nearly two years ago, I wrote about a Benny Carter masterpiece that received raves from musicians and critics after Count Basie recorded it for Roulette in 1960. Kansas City Suite went out of print as an LP, had a brief revival as a Capitol CD in 1990, sold poorly and has all but disappeared.
Basie’s so-called “new testament” band included Thad Jones, Joe Newman, Frank Wess, Frank Foster, Marshall Royal, Benny Powell, Al Grey and the great latterday Basie rhythm section. They gave Carter’s work a memorable performance. Despite clamoring by insistent bloggers (present company not excepted) for a new reissue, the Basie version is so rare as to be nearly a myth. One internet search for “Kansas City Suite” turned up an ad for hotel rooms. The recording is available only as a used LP, if you’re lucky enough to find one, or an MP3 download. The Seattle Repertory Jazz Orchestra revived the suite for a concert in 2008, but live performances of the music are all too infrequent. Fortunately, one movement was captured on video while Carter was alive.
At the Berlin Jazz Fest in 1989, Carter and the WDR Big Band played the opening movement of the suite, with John Clayton conducting. Notice Clayton looking boyish and Carter, who was eighty-two, only slightly older.

If you are a fan (sic) of the kind of language misuse eloquently exposed by the poet Taylor Mali in this recent Rifftides piece, you may enjoy the following video, a commercial for accountants.

Thanks to Bill McBirnie for calling that to our attention.

I was unable to cover the Portland Jazz Festival this year, to my regret. For reasons of economy, the festival came in compact form; one week instead of two. Jack Berry of Oregon Music News tells me he thinks that smaller was better. Berry wrote about two of the festival artists. This is some of what he had to say in advance about Pharaoh Sanders, for forty years among the freest of the free.

So this is your cup of tea or it isn’t. Sanders was playing with John Coltrane on Live in Seattle and more than one acquaintance of mine considers that to be one the most astonishing experiences of their lives. Pharoah chatter on the Internet includes a rebuttal to Whitney Balliett’s putdown, that it’s noise, not music. Call it what you want, was the rejoinder, if it’s noise it’s noise of surpassing power and frequent beauty.

To read all of that piece and see video of Sanders playing in a tunnel, go here.
Berry’s Sanders concert review includes this observation:

No one, prior to the Golden Age and beyond, has teased so many strange sounds out of a tenor saxophone as the Pharoah. Echo effects, warbles, ululations and splintered multi-sonics abounded. Others have gotten percussive sounds from the instrument by just fingering the pads (not blowing) but his are really loud. I kept looking at the bass player to see how he was doing that but he wasn’t (at that moment) doing anything.

Here is the link to the full review.
As the Portland festival wrapped up last night, Berry heard trumpeter Dave Douglas and the band Douglas calls Brass Ecstasy, four horns and a drummer.

The association one has with brass bands is exuberance and there was that in spades. But “I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry” was so richly mournful that the emotional range of this instrumentation was astonishingly extended.

For all of Jack’s review of Douglas and company, click here.

As a young adult, Paul Breitenfeld adopted the last name Desmond. Over the years, to amuse himself and confound others, he concocted several reasons for the change. He sometimes said he did it because he thought that in the event that he ever made records, the shorter name would fit better on 78 rpm labels. In truth, the inspiration came when he and his friend and fellow saxophonist Hal Strack were at Sweets Ballroom in Oakland, California. Hal’s story is in Chapter 6 of a certain book.

“We were listening to Gene Krupa’s band, sometime in 1942,” Strack said. “Howard Dulany had just left as the singer. The guy who replaced him had some kind of a convoluted Italian name and they decided that just wasn’t going to work for a vocalist. I mean, it was more difficult than Sinatra. So, he changed his name to Johnny Desmond. We were standing there listening to the band and discussing the fact that this had happened, and Paul said, ‘Jeesh, you know that’s such a great name. It’s so smooth and yet it’s uncommon.’ He said, ‘If I decide I need another name, it’s going to be Desmond.'”
Over the years, when asked where he got the name, he gave a variety of answers, often delivered with his enigmatic grin: from the telephone book, from the unon directory, from a newspaper, from a girl friend. He delivered these harmless put-ons with charm, conviction and the ring of sincerity. The telephone-book answer took on a life of its own and is endlessly repeated in stories about Desmond.

Now, a little family history: Because of a condition that indisposed his mother, Paul did part of his growing up in New Rochelle, New York, in the home of his father’s brother Frederick Breitenfeld and his family. He became close to his cousins Rick and Ruth. Rick provided much of the research material that went into the Desmond biography. Ruth’s married name is Barton. Her son Fred has extensive Broadway, motion picture and cabaret credentials as composer, song writer, orchestrator, director and actor. See his web site for full information and MP3s of some of his work. He never met his famous second cousin, but had one memorable telephone conversation with him when Fred Barton was an 18-year-old majoring in music at Harvard. He writes:

I was visiting my Uncle Rick and Aunt Mary Ellen in December 1976 — and I had competed to write the music for Harvard’s Hasty Pudding show (my life’s dream, at the time — I wasn’t thinking big!) — anyhow, I was rejected and was beyond morose.
Rick and Mary Ellen sent a tape of the songs to Paul, and while I was visiting he called them to chat, and they suddenly put me on the phone with him. We were both a little tongue-tied, since we’d never spoken before, but we had a great chat. Paul told me that my retro-stride songs reminded me of his father…. and he assured me that I would win the competition the next year. Well, I DID win the competition the following year, and I (within the context of being typically Breitenfeldian-atheist) I had to think he was somehow winking at me “I told you so.”
If only I’d been born earlier, or he’d lived longer, we’d have gotten to know each other in New York. A friend of mine plays at Elaine’s Sunday nights — I’m going to make it a hang-out.

Here is an intriguing sample of Fred Barton’s writing. It’s called “Psychobirds.” Desmond might well have grinned at this.

I wrote “Psychobirds” at USC when I was getting my master’s in Film Scoring at USC (I’m happy to announce I won the annual Harry Warren scholarship; I was old-school and retro, of course, so Warren’s daughter Cookie Warren went for my stuff. She tragically died with her husband and two grandchildren in a plane crash within a month of the Award ceremony — I still have a book of her father’s songs she gave me, inscribed “YOU’D BETTER MAKE IT! — Best, Cookie Warren” — I’m trying, Cookie, I’m trying…..)
I was studying with David Raksin, and for one assignment, he put together a fake “main title” sequence for an imaginary movie called “Psychobirds,” based on the style of the Psycho/Vertigo films, with various geometric graphics doing various dramatic things, and part of the idea was to “hit” the main events and titles — so the piece was written to those hits. We would routinely record with a small ensemble drawn from the USC musicians du jour. Raksin was one of the funniest and smartest people I ever met, and since I’d actually heard of (and seen) “Laura,” etc. and knew all of his arcane references from the past, I was something of a teacher’s pet. He started out helping Charlie Chaplin in the earliest days — helping to turn the tune “Smile” into a film score….. (before it was a song.) One of his memorable quotes: “Madonna gives cheap vulgarity a bad name.”

After three years of keeping his alto saxophone in the closet, in 1974 Paul Desmond finally succumbed to the exhortations of the Canterino family and agreed for the first time in a quarter of a century to play a club date as leader. The Canterino’s club, the Half Note, had moved from lower Manhattan to Midtown. The new proximity was an important factor. “After all,” he told me, “It’s only a couple of blocks away. I can fall out of bed and onto the bandstand.” He hired Jim Hall on guitar, Ron Carter on bass and drummer Ben Riley. For two weeks, they played opposite the Bill Evans Trio.
Desmond enjoyed it so much that he wanted to do more quartet playing. He had been thinking about going to Canada. Hall told him about a Toronto guitarist named Ed Bickert and a club called Bourbon Street. Following negotiations, he went into the club with Bickert, bassist Don Thompson and drummer Terry Clarke, later replaced by Jerry Fuller. It was the group that became his beloved Canadian Quartet, and he played with them the rest of his life.
The young woman speaking with Desmond in the January, 1976, video below is the skilled interviewer Mary Lou Finlay, then the host of the Canadian Broadcasting Company’s Take 30. In the full program, the actor and jazz enthusiast Paul Soles fills Finlay in on Desmond’s career and on jazz, about which she confesses to know nothing. Then, in a pre-recorded studio video, the Canadian quartet plays “Wendy,” followed by Finlay chatting with Paul live. It is a pity that YouTube doesn’t offer the full segment, but at least we have a rare instance of Desmond speaking on television. The clip picks up after Finlay has asked him why the Dave Brubeck Quartet disbanded in 1967.

Desmond recorded this album with the Canadian Quartet at Bourbon Street. Chapters 32-34 of Take Five: The Public and Private Lives of Paul Desmond cover the Canadian period and the final 16 months of Desmond’s life. He died on Memorial Day,1977.

The Rifftides Department Of Language Reform (DOLR) has been neglecting its duties. Its members claim that their failure to stop the misuse of “absolutely” and “no problem” (see this archives post) discouraged them. At a staff meeting on the subject, the DOLRers moaned that they despair of succeeding where Fowler, Strunk, White, Bernstein, Ciardi and other titans of proper English usage have failed. They pointed out that people still say, “ya know” every few seconds; still say and write, “they” when they should use, “he” or “she;” millions still bloat their sentences with “on a daily basis” and “on a national basis,” wasting words when they could streamline with, “daily” and “nationally.”
“Never give up,” I told them. “It’s God’s — or Webster’s — work.”
“Maybe we’re being too fussy, too pedantic,” they said. “Maybe the language is just taking its evolutionary course, and what sounds wrong today will be right tomorrow.”
“Shut up and watch this,” I explained.

Typography from Ronnie Bruce on Vimeo.

To learn more about the poet Taylor Mali, go here. Thanks to Bobby Shew for calling this delightful wig bubble to our attention.

In April of 2009, a Rifftides review of a Daryl Sherman CD failed to mention the album’s lead song, “S’Mardis Gras.” It also perpetuated the tray card’s mis-naming of the bass player. Correcting those shortcomings is a fine excuse to again call attention to a CD that deserves more of it.

Daryl Sherman, New O’leans (Audiophile). Hurricane Katrina’s assault on the Crescent City inspired Sherman to record this collection of songs, but it goes beyond the post-disaster blues to touch on many of the aspects that endear New Orleans to the world. Harold Arlen’s “Ill Wind” was an obvious choice. Louis Armstrong’s “Red Cap,” Irving Berlin’s “Shaking the Blues Away,” Henry Mancini’s “Moon River” and Dave Frishberg’s “Eloise” may seem unexpected companions in a New Orleans tribute until you hear how Sherman and her colleagues use them to evoke the city. Rhodes Spedale’s “S’Mardi Gras” needs no enhancement in that regard; it is a tour of Fat Tuesday locations and emotions. Guitarist James Chirillo and trumpeter Connie Jones are Sherman’s best-known sidemen. Reed man Tom Fischer and bassist Al Bernard, misidentified as “Menard,” are in the same league. Sherman plays piano on this drummerless date. The infectious good cheer in her voice will make you grin, except when she makes your eyes moist with “Mr Bojangles” and “Wendell’s Cat.”

The Village Vanguard is observing its 75th anniversary this week. Joe Lovano and the band he calls Us Five are playing there through Sunday. I wish that I could attend. But I shouldn’t be greedy; in my New York years, I was fortunate to be in the club often. I heard music there that echoes in my mind to this day. Frequently on Monday nights, I wrapped up the newscast, jumped into a cab and headed for the Vanguard. That’s a night off for many musicians, and anyone might have shown up for the Thad Jones-Mel Lewis band in its weekly gig. Gene Ammons sat in one Monday when I was there, Sonny Rollins another. I missed the night in 1981, after the band had become the Mel Lewis Jazz Orchestra, when Miles Davis successively borrowed all the horns in the trumpet section and played on Jones’s “Second Race.” With or without a surprise guest, that band was a joy. Both of its its founders are gone and it is still a joy…every Monday night at the Vanguard.
It was a pleasure to hang out during the breaks with the musicians at the bar or in the kitchen and to chat with Max Gordon. Max started the club in 1935 because he wanted a place where poets could read their work. Jazz came to the club later. On National Public Radio, Lara Pellegrinelli told a brief history of the Vanguard, Max and Lorraine Gordon (pictured) and some of the musicians who made a cultural institution of a triangular room in a New York Seventh Avenue basement. To read and hear her report, including the story of the foodless kitchen, go here.
Happy birthday, Village Vanguard, and many more.

Unexpected and welcome news from a Danish web site:

Denmark’s once legendary jazz club Montmartre re-opens in May 2010 in its original premises in Copenhagen. During the 1960’s and 70’s the club served as a European home for American giants like Ben Webster, Dexter Gordon, Stan Getz, Kenny Drew and many others.

Pianist Niels Lan Doky and a partner will operate the club as a nonprofit enterprise. For details, go here. For recent Rifftides posts involving the Montmartre, go here and here.

Jazz At Lincoln Center has just announced the artists posthumously inducted into its Nesuhi Ertegun Jazz Hall of Fame for 2010. They are Bill Evans, Bud Powell, Billy Strayhorn and Sarah Vaughan. Those honored are chosen by vote of a panel of experts from 17 countries.
Jazz at Lincoln Center will present concerts dedicated to the inductees. Here is the schedule:
Intuition: The Music of Bill Evans (May 14-15, 2010)
The Music of Billy Strayhorn (November 5-6, 2010)
The Music of Sarah Vaughan (January 21-22, 2011)
The Music of Bud Powell & Earl Hines (April 29-30, 2011)
Hines was a previous winner, as were 34 others including Louis Armstrong, Billie Holiday, Gil Evans, Fats Waller, Ella Fitzgerald, Miles Davis, Mary Lou Williams and Jo Jones. To see the entire list and their photographs, visit the Ertegun Hall of Fame site. The hall is named for the distinguished producer of recordings by musicians from Kid Ory to Ornette Coleman. It was funded by his brother Ahmet, Nesuhi’s partner in Atlantic Records. Nesuhi Ertegun (pictured) died in 1989, Ahmet in 2006.